


Taller Tales

by Anonymous



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Genderbending, M/M, brotherly bickering, charlie tells it like it is, correcting the ills of society one dangerous prank at a time, dean's kind of a dick, i mean it's based off of tall tales what do you expect, sam's rediculous hair
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-28
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 14:54:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1862016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When the Winchesters decide to check out a weird case in Kentucky, things start to get... freaky. Whoever is behind it has them running into everything from abnormal rates of hair growth to uncalled for sex changes to mysterious gay dance clubs that seem to appear in public restrooms. And it's too late to back out now—their "villain" has some lessons to teach, and Team Free Will is stuck right in the middle of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Part Where There Was a Gay Club in the Men's Room

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Extremely offensive language is used by a few of the less savory characters. Please note that I do not endorse the usage of these words, nor do I share the sentiments of their users. Reader discretion is advised. 
> 
> This was written for Round 1 of the [Supernatural Crack Challenge](http://spncrackchallenge.tumblr.com/). My partner was [Courtney](http://archangel-fallen-angel.tumblr.com/) and my prompt was "2.15: Tall Tales".  
> 

* * *

 

            “Hold on,” Charlie says, putting up a hand and finishing a bite of the chicken wing she’s eating. “You guys aren’t just messing with me, are you?”

            Dean gives her a dark look and begins to respond, but Sam cuts him off. “We aren’t messing with you,” he says grimly. “We really need your help.”

            Charlie shakes her head and grins. “You guys run into some weird stuff, but I gotta say, whoever did all this deserves some kind of medal.”

            “I don’t think you realize how serious this is,” Dean says.

            “What? No, it’s _funny!_ ”

            “Really? You think _this_ ”—Dean makes a sweeping gesture down at himself—“is _funny_?”

            “It’s _hilarious_ ,” Charlie smirks. “Now, tell me how it happened.”

 

* * *

 

             A man sits with his friend at a bar, nursing a Coors and talking loudly. There’s a sports game on—it might be football, or maybe basketball or baseball, or even hockey. Whatever it is, the man is invested in it. He yells when his team scores and yells even louder when they don’t.

            “Oh come on! Are the refs _blind?_ ” the man calls out after draining his glass. “That’s so _gay_ , man.”

            His friend nods in agreement just as the bell above the door to the bar clangs loudly. Two men enter the bar, grinning at each other, and take the bar stools on the man’s other side.

            “What’s the score?” one of the new guys asks.

            “Not fucking high enough,” the man replies.

            The other man looks at the screen and grimaces. “Damn… They were doing so well last week.”

            “Yeah, well that was when the refs could fucking _see_.”

            “You think they got paid off?”

            “I wouldn’t be fucking surprised.”

            “Can I get you something?” the bartender asks the new sports-watchers. The first man—the one with short, dark hair who agreed about how badly the game was going—grinned.

            “I’ll take whatever you have on tap,” he said, then turned to his partner. “Babe, you want anything?”

            Immediately, the loud, beer-nursing, sports-loving man goes silent. He stares at the two newcomers like they had suddenly become something less than human, and then turns away pointedly. “Fucking fags,” the man mutters to his friend. Now the two newcomers go silent. They murmur something apologetic to the bartender and leave.

            The game goes on, and the man becomes progressively louder and more furious as his team lags farther and farther behind. Finally, when the game is over and his team has lost, he stands up. “I gotta take a fucking piss,” he announces. “Gimme a minute.”

            He lumbers off to the restrooms, nearly knocking over a table along the way.

            When he gets to the bathroom, he thinks he must have gone through the wrong door. The place he just walked into isn’t tiled and brightly lit like he expected, nor does it have sinks or urinals or hand-dryers. Instead the room is dark with flashes of blinding light—strobe lights, he realizes belatedly—and there’s loud, pounding music blaring from speakers. Dark silhouettes crowd the floor in front of him, dancing with glow sticks above their heads. The only part of the room that’s well-lit is a metal cage at the back with what looks like a naked person moving around inside. Although he’s still confused, drunk, and more than a little uneasy, the possibility of boobs spurs him forward, and he takes a few steps into the bathroom-turned-club. He regrets that decision the moment he gets close enough to get a better look at the cage dancer. There are no boobs—just really beefy pectorals and a banana hammock. Immediately, he turns back to the door, only to see it slam shut behind him. The moment the door closes, the room brightens, and all the dark figures around him turn into large, attractive men with big muscles and not enough clothing. All of a sudden the whole room is looking at him.

            “Keep the fuck away from me,” he blurts. His warning doesn’t seem to do any good—the scantily-clad men advance, surrounding him as they continue to wave their glow sticks. The man glances from side to side, nervous. “Stay back, freaks!”

            It’s as if that was the word they were waiting for. The dancing men converge, the drunken man caught in the middle. “Keep your disgusting hands off me!” The strobe light goes back on, and the music seems to get even louder. “Get away from me!” His voice is drowned by the music. “Stop it!” _He’s_ drowning now, the flood of bodies that enveloping him, dragging him down. “Get _away!_ ” he cries, one last time, before the oxygen around him seems to disappear, and the world goes black.

 

* * *

 

            “‘ _Homophobe Jumped by Gay Mob_ ’” Sam read, hotel coffee in hand as he dropped the newspaper on the table in front of Dean. “Apparently three boxes of glow sticks were recovered on the scene, but everyone at the bar swears they didn’t hear or see any giant gay mob swarming the men’s room. It’s close, too—Penton, Kentucky. That’s… what, an hour from here?”

            “An hour and a half,” supplied Dean, scanning over the newspaper article.

            “Still,” Sam insisted. “We should check it out.”

            “I dunno….”

            “What?”

            Dean handed the paper back to Sam. “Seems like it’s just some kind of prank gone wrong.”

            “Really, Dean? No one saw anything, no one heard anything, _and_ the guy was suffocated to death in a public restroom, even though it _looked_ like he was trampled. And there were glow sticks.”

            “You mentioned the glow sticks already.”

            “Yeah, so? Are we going or not?”

            Dean paused. He glanced again at the paper in Sam’s hand, then closed the laptop he’d been working on. “I guess it’s worth checking out.”

            “Great. I’ll tell Cas to meet us there,” Sam said and slipped his cellphone out of his pocket.

            Dean sighed, then muttered under his breath, “Gay ghosts, here we come.”

 

* * *

 

            “I wouldn’t have gone,” Charlie says.

            “It was close. And we’ve gone on a lot less before,” Sam replies defensively, pushing his ridiculous hair out of his eyes.

            Charlie shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant. Whatever this thing is, I would have just let it keep doing what it’s doing. It’s doing the world a favor if you ask me.”

            “Hey. The guy was a douchebag, for sure, but he didn’t deserve to _die_ ,” Dean cuts in.

            Charlie just raises a challenging eyebrow.

            “Anyway,” Sam continues, getting them back on topic, “that wasn’t all the thing did….”

 

* * *

 

            “Are you sure you didn’t see anything else?”

            “It’s just like I told the feds: my date and I went to the bar to watch some sports, I started talking to the dead guy, the dead guy called us, you know, and we left. That’s it.

            “No cold spots, power shortages, maybe something that you thought was… not natural?”

            “No, nothing like that,” the man said, inviting them into his disheveled living room. He sat down and brushed off some stray candy wrappers from the couch opposite him before waving at the Sam and Dean to take the seat. “Like I said, it was a pretty normal night.”

            “Do you know if we might have a word with your, uh, date?” Dean asked, shifting on the leather sofa.

            “He’s in the shower,” the man replied. “Why?”

            “Well, you two were the only gay dudes in the bar. The dead guy was trampled by a bunch of gay dudes. It’s just—”

            “What my partner _means_ ,” Sam jumped in, “is that we just want to cover all the bases and eliminate you guys from the whole equation. Also, you two are more likely to help point us in the right direction.”

            “Well, first off,” the man said, looking at Dean, “I’m bisexual, not gay. And second—” He turned back to Sam just as a knock sounded at the door.

            “That’ll be Cas,” Dean said, getting to his feet. Cas appeared in the doorway before he could leave the living room, though, so he sat back down.

            “I didn’t even hear you open the door,” said their interviewee, sounding both conversational and mildly concerned.

            “The door was… unlocked, Cas replied lamely.

            The man looked a little more concerned, but before he could pursue that line of thought, Sam interrupted. “So, you were saying?”

            “Oh, yeah, um, I really don’t know how much I can help you on that front. I don’t know about Gary, but I don’t actually frequent clubs or gay bars.”

            “What’s your relationship with, uh, ‘Gary’? Are you two, what, ‘boyfriends’?” Dean asked in such a way that you could practically hear the quotation marks around the words.

            “That seems a bit personal,” Sam said, shooting Dean a warning look. “That’s not really part of our protocol—”

            “Oh no, it’s fine,” the man assured them, though something in his tone suggested otherwise. “We met at the café where he works. We’re not boyfriends, no, but we’ve gone on dates to hook up a few times. You know, to do ‘gay’ things, like go to bars and watch sports, and then do more gay things, like, I don’t know, have gay sex. Does that answer your question?”

            “Yeah,” said Dean. “It’s just that I feel like your openness about your sexuality threatens my masculine heterosexual self-image—”

 

* * *

 

            “I did _not_ say that!” Dean shouted indignantly.

            Sam grinned at Charlie, who was wearing an equally satisfied smirk. “No, but you may as well have.”

            “But—”

            “Just let me finish telling the story, okay?”

 

* * *

 

            “—does that answer your question?” the man asked. Sam and Dean nodded, but Cas wore a very different expression on his face.

            “Excuse me,” Cas said, looking vaguely horrified. I have to… leave….”

            “Wait, Cas! Hey—” Dean got to his feet a second time, but by then Castiel was out of the sight of their host and free to disappear with a whoosh of air and the sound of flapping of wings. “Damn it….”

            “Where’s he go?” the man asked, confused.”

            “Wish I knew….” Dean muttered darkly. Sam gave his brother a pointed glare, then looked down at the other man.

            “He got an urgent message. Probably an update on the case, or… something. We’ll keep in touch. Is there a number we can contact you at?”

            “Sure….”

Fifteen minutes later, they had shown themselves out and were cruising along the Kentucky highway when they realized that they’d forgotten to talk to the man’s date from the night of the crime.

            “It’s fine. Most likely a dead end anyway,” Sam said reasonably.

            Dean grunted. “Hope so….”

 

* * *

 

            “…And you guys didn’t even consider that he could be a suspect?” Charlie asks in disbelief.

            Sam and Dean at least have the good graces to look ashamed.

            “I mean, I know you guys make mistakes sometimes, but that’s just sloppy.”

            “Yeah, yeah, rub it in….” Dean sighs, leaning back in his chair. He crosses his arms over his chest, but when that doesn’t prove to be as comfortable as he expected, he folds his hands behind his head.

            “And Cas,” Charlie continues, rounding on the angel standing against the wall just behind them. “What’s with the hit and run? Not cool, man. What was so important that you had to leave in such a hurry without any explanation?”

            Cas shifts uncomfortably, staring at the floor. Dean rolls his eyes, and Sam suddenly looks as though he’d rather be anywhere else but there.

            “You’ll… figure it out, soon enough,” Dean says eventually. “Just give him a couple more minutes and you’ll know exactly what’s been plaguing Mr. Teenage Dream over there.”

            Charlie raises an eyebrow and Cas looks as close to mortified as an angel can ever get.

            “O…kay?” Charlie says. “I have no idea what you mean by that but okay?”

            “You’ll know,” Sam assures her. Dean almost chuckles, and then takes out a second newspaper clipping, handing it to Charlie.

            “We’re not done telling you everything, though. Here’s the rest of it….”

 


	2. Fic Abandoned, here's the rest of my draft and my notes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I abandoned this fic a while ago so I'm just gonna post the rest of the (unedited) draft and what happens at the end.

 

 

A man stumbles along the dark pavement, light from the streetlamps casting long, flighty shadows across the road. Nothing but the sounds of his feet against the asphalt and the distant barks of a dog disrupts the quiet night. He holds a brown bottle up to his lips, tips it upside-down, waits. When the empty bottle betrays him, he considers it for a moment, and then smashes it loudly against a nearby wall. The shattered glass almost glitters.

He begins to rub at his bruised knuckles as they throb from some earlier encounter. He should have used his belt, he thinks.

Out of the gloom, a very different kind of footstep joins his own heavy, erratic ones. They’re sharp, brisk, almost cutting. Each footstep’s biphonic melody is like a heartbeat—short long, short long, short long, short long; heel toe, heel toe, heel toe, heel toe. It’s nothing like his own footfalls. These sounds belong to a woman.

The man turns around looking for the source of the clicking feet. Sure enough, a tall women in stilettos is behind him, wearing fishnets and a full face of make-up. Her dark coat swishes in the cool night air, but she doesn’t flinch or slow her pace. In fact, he’s not quite sure she even sees him until he wolf-whistles at her.

“Hey there, pretty lady,” he calls out. “Wanna go have some fun?”

She spares him a cursory glance, but otherwise pays no attention to him and keeps walking.

“Hey, you! Whore! I’m talking to you!”

She breezes past him.

“Bitch! I’ll teach you to ignore a man, you dirty little cunt,” he says as he strides towards her, grabbing her on the shoulder and turning her around. “There, now show me your fucking—”

Her eyes are pure gold. There are no pupils, no whites to them. Just pure, swirling gold, like fire and metal all at once. The man staggers backward, withdrawing his hand as though she’d burned him. Maybe she had.

“What the fuck…?” he whimpers, and she pounces.

Within seconds, he’s pinned to the ground, two tall stiletto heels grinding into his chest and groin while two hands clutch his windpipe. The man’s eyes bulge, and he tries to gasp, but the fingers just press even tighter and he begins to choke in earnest. The woman’s eyes blaze gold as she says, “You are nothing more than a coward. Men like you are the ones eternal damnation was made for.”

The last things he sees are her molten eyes and her blood-red lips before his mind fades to black, and then to fire.

 

—

 

“Could you tell us a little bit about what happened here last night?” Sam asked, accepting the coffee the woman offered them. “Anything unusual? Maybe something your boyfriend said before he left?”

The woman—Rosa Vargas—looked at them with dazed eyes. She fingered her own cup of tea, playing with the string on the tea bag. Several moments had passed when she finally answered.

“He said he was going to get a drink,” Erin told them slowly, “and that he needed some air. He was very angry….” As though by reflex, she began to run her fingers along the edge of a dark purple bruise that had begun to form on her upper cheek. Sam and Dean exchanged hard glances.

“Did he say anything about where he might be going? An address, maybe?” Sam pressed on.

“Not an address, no, but he did say he was going to a bar on 12th avenue. Does that help?”

Just then, the doorbell rang. Dean got to his feet automatically and ignored Sam’s raised eyebrow. “It’s—” Dean started, but his brother cut him off.

“Cas, yeah, whatever. Go talk to him. Um, Ms. Vargas, do you know anything about the Bluegrass Tavern? It’s on 12th avenue, like you were saying. Last week, a guy died there in the public restrooms….”

Sure enough, Cas was standing on the porch when Dean opened the door. “Hey man! What was with the disappearing act yesterday, huh? A phone call would have been nice.”

Cas stared at his feet, then at the fence to their left, then at the open hallway just past Dean’s head. “I was… indisposed,” the angel said stiffly, and the distinct lack of eye contact was really disconcerting, especially considering this was Cas, who usually couldn’t be found looking anywhere _but_ at Dean. Or anyone who he happened to be talking to at the time.

 

—

 

“But mostly Dean,” Sam adds helpfully. Dean glares, and Cas stares at the wall.

 

—

 

“‘Indisposed’? What does ‘indisposed’ even mean?” Dean asked. Cas kept looking awkwardly away. Clearly, this was not a topic that was going anywhere, and Dean decided that it wasn’t worth trying to force an explanation out of Cas just yet. He rolled his eyes, but let it go. “Come on. We’re interviewing. We could use some of your angel mojo, or whatever.”

He turned around towards the inside of the house, and walked in a few paces. When he didn’t hear Cas’s footsteps following him, he looked back, only to see Cas standing stalk-still and staring at an area around the backs of Dean’s knees—or maybe his waist? It was hard to tell, since Cas looked both zoned-out and exceedingly uncomfortable, but also… hell, he had no idea. He didn’t think he’d ever seen that look on his angel before, and figuring out angel emotions was really damn hard.

“…Cas?” Dean asked tentatively. For a fleeting moment, Cas’s eyes jumped to his, wide and [INSERT DESCRIPTOR HERE], like he’d forgotten that he wasn’t supposed to be looking. Then he vanished.

“God… damn it. Damn it!” Dean swore. He stalked back into the living room. “Sam! Cas disappeared again. We gotta go.”

Sam jumped, startled, and tried to scramble to his feet, only to knock over the entire coffee table, including all three of their coffee cups and several magazines. He then stumbled backwards and tripped over the back of the couch, which sent both him and the sofa crashing to the floor. Then the lamp—

 

—

 

“It was _not_ that bad!” Sam says indignantly.

“You should have seen him,” Dean tells Charlie. “He was flailing _everywhere_ , hair flying…. It was _priceless_.”

“You’re exaggerating, Dean.”

“I should have caught that on tape….”

“Just let me finish the part with Rosa.”

“Sure. Fine. But I’ll pick it up at the bar.”

 

—

 

Sam jumped, alarmed, and stood to his feet, bumping the coffee table only slightly and causing a very small and hardly notable amount of coffee to slosh out of the three mugs placed there. One of the magazines positioned on the tabletop slid harmlessly onto the floor, as it had been fairly close to the edge already and really hadn’t needed much of a push to fall off, anyway. In a polite effort to prevent any further insignificant mishaps, Sam backed away from the table and caught his foot at the edge of the sofa. The furniture was scooted backward a little, but no other tripping or crashing or flailing occurred, aside for a mildly shaken lamp that was sitting next to the couch.

“Thank you so much for your help, Rosa,” Sam said in a reasonably dignified but gracious voice.  “We’ll make sure to keep in touch if we find out anything new about your boyfriend’s death.”

And with that, the Winchesters were out the door, chasing a new scent. It was time to try a different direction.

 

—

 

“…The bar?” Charlie asks, incredulous. “You think it was the bar.”

“Well, someone _in_ the bar,” Sam clarifies.

Dean nods in agreement. “Probably someone who works there.”

“So I’m guessing you went to investigate there, then?” Charlie says. Her query is met with affirmative grunts from both of the brothers. “So then, what did you find?”

“Well,” says Dean, “it’s probably easier if I just tell you everything….”

 

—

 

The bar was in a fairly normal part of town. 12th Avenue had everything you might expect from a small-town street: a gift shop, a clothing outlet, some kind of grocery store, even a little coffee shop next-door to the bar.

“‘Coyote Coffee,’” Dean read from the sign above the café. “Jonesing for some caffeine, Sammie?”

“It’s seven o’clock at night.”

Dean grinned and shrugged.

The Bluegrass Tavern wasn’t especially remarkable, either. Aside from a string of bright caution tape that cornered off the bathrooms, the bar looked just like any other sports bar you’d find in the Midwest: dim, mostly empty, and plagued by a constant stream of bad country music in the background.

“Color me impressed,” Dean grumbled. No sooner had he said this than a beautiful women sat down at a bar stool across the room. “I’m going to start asking around, okay?” he told Sam, and then made his way over to the woman.

“Hey there,” Dean said, sitting down next to her. She glanced up at him before looking away shyly. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, that’s okay,” she replied, gesturing to the beer in front of her. “I’ve already got one. Thanks, though.”

Dean grinned at her charmingly. “So, what brings a beautiful girl like yourself out here all alone? You looking for someone here?”

“I actually just came out of a bad breakup,” she said. “So no, I’m really not looking for anyone.”

“Good, you’re unattached. Like me.”

“I guess.”

“So, what d’you say, could you use a little company?”

“Oh, company isn’t what I need,” she said, gripping her bottle a little more tightly and treating him with a long stare. Her long dark lashes fluttered slightly, framing a pair of clear blue eyes that seemed to glitter as she looked at him.

He offered her a hand to shake. “I’m Dean. You got a name?”

“Gabbi,” she said, slowly accepting the proffered hand.

“Well Gabbi, how about we get out of here?”

“What?”

“I’ve got a hotel room a few miles up the road,” Dean continued. “Why don’t we have a little fun?”

 

 

 [END OF WRITTEN DRAFT]

 

So basically, Gabbi is (surprise surprise!) actually Gabriel, and to teach Dean a lesson about harassing women who really just aren't interested, he gives Dean the body of a cis woman so that he can see what it's like to constantly be harassed. At some point Cas is forced to confront the boner curse that Gabriel put on him (which is why he's been acting so weird). But! The curse has a twist! It only emphasizes and exaggerates real hidden desires, so Cas actually sort of wants to bang Dean after all! Dean overcomes his sexism and internalized homophobia and gets with Cas, and Sam maybe (?) gets with Gabriel? It's been a few years, idk if that's the direction I was going with this fic.

But yeah, Gabriel teaches everyone a lesson on misogyny, toxic masculinity, and homophobia, and the world is a (slightly) better place because of it.


End file.
